Playing the Game Rematch
by MariaShadow
Summary: G1 The past never likes to stay hidden, and some games never end. They just come back with an added twist.
1. Chapter 1

_Well, here it is, the promisedsequel to Playing the Game. This one promises to be a dark ride, so here's hoping you all enjoy it_

_Disclaimer-Idon't own, youdon't sue. Comprende?_

* * *

Playing the Game- Rematch

Setting the board

It was a surprisingly quiet day at the Ark. The Decepticons had received a sound drumming during the last skirmish, Autobot casualties had been minimal, and Wheeljack hadn't blown anything up for at least a week.

Prowl was manning the control room when Jazz entered, the Porsche whistling a random snippet of tune. Prowl had never quite figured out how Jazz managed to whistle. Ratchet had deemed the feat a medical impossibility, as a tongue was required for whistling and no Autobot actually had a tongue in robot mode. But then Jazz was Jazz. If he didn't know something was impossible there was a fair chance that he'd do it.

"Y' said ya had a message fer me?" Jazz queried.  
"Yes, Priority One. Text only." Prowl said as he handed over the high-security data pad. The other black and white took it and entered his identification code before seating himself in one of the empty chairs and scrolling through the message.

The 2IC returned to his work, only to be interrupted by a sudden exclamation.

"Oh no. Oh slagging Pit-fire no!" Jazz cursed, jumping out of his chair and hurrying to the communications panel, swearing under his breath as he entered in a specific frequency. "Jazz, what happened?" Prowl asked, rising from his seat.  
"Something frelling bad, that's what." Was the terse reply.

An image of an orange femme wearing medic's brands appeared on the main screen. _"This is Commander Respite of the Medical Corps, what is it?"_ She asked.  
"I'm Special Operations Officer Jazz. Tell me it didn't happen."  
Respite shook her head. _"I'm afraid it did."  
_"What the slag were you thinking!" Jazz demanded. "Four guards and a field medic ain't nearly enough, especially for him."  
"_I know that now."  
_"Put me through to her, I gotta get the story from the source."  
"_But she's…"  
_The femme trailed off as Jazz leaned in closer to the screen, his voice low and dangerous. "Put me through." He repeated.

The image on the screen changed to a view of a ward. Another medic appeared. _"Yes?"_ He asked.  
"Lemme talk to Shadow." Jazz ordered.  
"_I'm sorry, but she's still recovering."_ There was a commotion off-screen and the medic was suddenly shoved aside, replaced by a battered looking grey and black femme that Prowl assumed was Shadow. Half her face was replaced by a temporary patch, her crest was bent askew and a web of weld scars laced the visible portion of her frame.

"_Jazz, it's true. Deck's got CFS, he's out of control." _Shadow said in response to Jazz's unasked question.  
"What happened?"  
"_It was after a mission. He got back in the base and snapped, killing eight mechs in the process. They managed to subdue him, and I was assigned to go pick him back and take him to the medical base for treatment. Unfortunately, he came back online in mid transport. I think you can guess the rest."_

"Excuse me, but what is going on?" Prowl interrupted.  
Jazz sighed. "One o' my old Black Ops buddies went nuts yesterday. He's got something the docs call Combat Fatigue Syndrome, CFS for short. Something shorts out in th' neural net from some sorta emotional build up. It's a kind of temporary insanity. If it ain't treated quickly it becomes permanent." He explained, then turned back to the screen. "What happened after that?"

"_He killed two of the guards and would have slaughtered the rest of us too if Gauntlet hadn't been on a fly-over and stepped in." _Shadow said. _"Last we saw of him he'd stolen a shuttle and was breaking out of orbit." _The femme leaned in a bit closer. _"He's coming for you Jazz."  
_The Porsche offered a half-shrug."Then I'll make sure he finds me."  
"_Are you defective!" _Shadow demanded. _"He's twice your size and packing enough weaponry to bring down a gestalt! Ultra Magnus has already assembled a retrieval team, they're en-route right now."_

"Yeah, but even if they left within th' breem of Deck escapin', he'd still get here first." Jazz pointed out. "Like it or not, I gotta deal with this. You just concentrate on getting back t' full strength. After that, if somethin' goes haywire you get th' team together an' pick up where I left off. You copy?"  
"_I copy." _Shadow answered reluctantly. _"Be careful."_ The screen winked out as she cut the link.

Jazz sighed and let his head hang for a moment. "Man oh man, this ain't gonna be pretty." He muttered to himself, then stood straight and looked over at Prowl. "Prowl, I need ya t' get Prime an' the rest of th' officers t'gether in the conference room, pronto."


	2. Chapter 2

Preparing the players

Expressions ranged from outright shock to carefully cultured neutrality as Jazz laid out the situation to his peers and superiors.

"Basic gist of it- we got a loco Black Ops specialist comin' down here t' pop me." Jazz said as he summed up. "He won't have no problem mowing through the rest o' ya, so I'm gonna face him alone."  
"I can't allow that Jazz." Prime rebutted. "From what you've told us, Deck is far too dangerous to be taken on alone."  
"I know him Prime, an' I've beaten him before." Jazz replied, his voice carrying a rare note of defiance. "You're not gonna risk sendin' bots out t' fight one o' our own, 'specially someone that y' don't know much about. I've got a better chance on my own. Please Optimus, have a lil' faith in me."

Blue visor locked with blue optics in a silent debate. Finally, the Prime offered a curt nod. "Alright." He said reluctantly. "I don't like it, but it's the only way. What do you advise?"

"Call in everyone an' put th' Ark into full lockdown. An' keep everyone in one location." Jazz replied. "Deck's an infiltration specialist. If he gets in here before I can bring him down, the less targets wanderin' 'round the base the better."  
"Common Room would be best." Prowl spoke up. "It's a fairly defendable location, large enough to hold everyone, and sensor feeds can be diverted to portable comm/scan units."  
"Sounds good." Jazz nodded. "There's just one last thing. Deck's shuttle should be here just after nightfall. You need t' be inside b'fore then. Whatever y' see or hear don't come out until sun up. Even if it looks like I've been killed. However this ends, it'll be over by sunrise."

0o0o0

Despite the best efforts of the command team, word leaked out about the situation.

The twins tracked Jazz down to a side room of the armoury, where the black and white had just placed a stack of reinforced gun cases on the scratched tabletop.

"Y'know, someone recently told us that Autobots don't do too well on their own, that if one of us has a problem, we all do." Sunstreaker observed from where he was leaning on the doorframe.  
"Not too subtle there Sunny." Jazz commented. "I ain't denying it, an' in any other situation I would've asked for y' help."  
"So why don't you?" Sideswipe interrupted, leaning on the opposite side of the doorframe.  
"Can't. I ain't gonna risk your lives, 'specially when this guy is after me." Jazz replied, not looking at either twin. He laid out a cleaning kit and started unlocking the gun cases. "Deck isn't gonna stop until he faces me, so I'm gonna save him the trouble by makin' sure he sees me first. But if he does get th' drop on me, Magnus has a team on the way. Give 'em a hand when they come, and if that falls through, Shadow 'ill be here with the 116's and a couple of other folks."  
"We got it Jazz." Sunstreaker nodded, pushing off the wall and tugging his brother away.

Prowl was next to visit the saboteur, pausing at the doorframe like the twins had. Jazz had emptied the gun cases of their contents by this stage, the various weapons neatly laid out on the table while Jazz methodically cleaned, checked and prepped each one.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Prowl asked.  
"Personally, I'd rather be runnin' th' Kailo-Hescon line again, but I don't really have a choice." Jazz replied, stripping down a long-barrelled rifle and carefully checking each piece over before cleaning and reassembling it.

The tactician watched him silently before coming to the table. He counted two shotguns, three rifles of varying calibres, a sub machine gun, eight pistols and a variety of knives and knife-life weapons, all laid out in a neat fan before the Special Ops officer.

Prowl picked up a clip from the rifle Jazz was working on. Inside the clip were six bullets, each as long and thick as his thumb, more like miniature cannon shells than regular projectiles. They were designed with two explosive chambers, one in the tip to detonate on impact, and the other in the body of the projectile to detonate a second later when the bullet was inside the target.

Prowl held up the clip "These are Black Fang bullets, illegal in six star systems, including ours."  
"I know. Chief gave 'em to me just b'fore the sting op that busted his gang." Jazz replied, not looking at the 2IC as he concentrated on a particularly finicky piece. "Picked up th' others here an' there along the way."  
"Why didn't you turn them in after the mission?"  
"First rule of Black Ops- Never discard a possible asset. Trust me, these things have saved my hide b'fore, an' I'll probably need 'em again t'night."

Prowl considered questioning the Autobot further as to what other things he had chosen to not 'discard', but decided against it. Such a matter could be better discussed later, and right now Jazz needed as little distraction as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

First moves

It was about an hour before sunset and Jazz's preparations were almost complete. His usually crisp colours had been muted and overlaid by a matt layer of mottled dark browns and dark tans to better conceal him among the rocks, and a special polarising attachment had been clipped over his visor to prevent his optic glow from alerting Deck to his presence.

There was just one thing left to do, and it was frighteningly easy.

Jazz reached back into the recesses of his mind and drew out the old mannerisms, the old way of walking, of holding his shoulders in a deceptively relaxed stance, the optics behind his visor hard and narrow. And along with the expression came the cold detachment that his previous occupation had drummed into him.

He hated it, the return to the old self, but it was the quickest way that he knew to get the clinical calm and impassiveness that this particular situation needed. He couldn't afford to hesitate if he wanted to live. Jazz stood and looked into the dark glass of a deactivated screen, seeing his features unnaturally twisted by the old grim set of his jaw. He really hated this, but if he were to have a chance of surviving tonight, he needed to be able to pull the trigger when the moment called.

0o0o0

The sunset that night was an ominous one, the red sun lowering in a dirty haze of orange-tinted clouds that hung low over the horizon and painting the landscape with a wash of red light.

Jazz had seated himself at a vantage point near the Ark's access road, one of his rifles laid across his knees while he watched the last stragglers hurry into the safety of the base. Grimlock was last, herding his Dinobots before him. He paused beside the seated officer, expression and body language unreadable. "You hunt." The T-rex stated bluntly. Jazz replied with a single nod. Grimlock clapped one hand on the formerly black and white shoulder, then strode inside, the blast door sealing shut behind him.

"_Optimus to Jazz. We've finished locking down the base. Matrix be with you."  
_"Copy that. Jazz out." The Porsche replied, severing the link and shutting down his radio to prevent any surprise calls. The sun had completely set by now, with only a few traces of colour still staining the cloud. Jazz sighed and looked up at the dark sky. "Primus, I don't know if you're listening, but I'd really 'preciate it if you'd watch my back on this one. I'm gonna need it."

A glint of reflected light caught his attention, the object dropping out of the clouds and vanishing behind a mesa a few miles away from the base. Jazz got up and clicked the safety off his rifle. Deck had just arrived. The game was on.

0o0o0

The light had fully died by the time Jazz had walked to the landing site. Luckily there was no moon tonight, making things just a bit easier for him.

Jazz slunk through the network of canyons and ravines, grateful for the detailed maps that Hound had made of the area around the base. At the moment, he was at a disadvantage. He had no clue where Deck was or how he thought, whether he was logical and rational, completely crazy, or somewhere in-between.

But there was one advantage that Jazz had- he knew the area, and he knew how to use it. For eight solid weeks after re-activating, Jazz spent almost all his spare time outside, re-learning how to walk silently, hide his tracks and follow other's and use the landscape to his advantage. Deck had none of that knowledge.

A scrape of twigs against metal echoed up from the bottom of a branching ravine below him. Jazz carefully negotiated a steep slope leading down to it and crouched halfway down it with barely a whisper of sound. Unlike some of his fellows he hadn't had the advantage of starting out with professionally tuned systems and top of the line parts. He'd learned how to sneak around the hard way, through long hours of practise and with the incentive of knowing that if he was heard, he'd be dead. Even now, with proper maintenance and quality replacement parts, he would deliberately un-tune some of his joints to make sure that he wouldn't fall into the trap of relying on his body to stay silent when it should. Jazz swept his optics across the area, searching for the deranged officer, when he heard an all too familiar voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Pawn to E3

"Hello Jazz, come to greet me?" Deck's mocking voice echoed off the walls of the ravine. Jazz made no reply, only clutched his rifle closer to his body. "But then, I'm not fighting Jazz, am I?" Deck continued. "No, Jazz doesn't hunt, now does he? But I know who does." The formerly black and white could hear the grin in Deck's voice. "Welcome back Hardline, it's good to see you're still alive."

Jazz set his jaw, trying to will away the ghosts associated with his old name. Yes, he had once been known as Hardline, the second in command of a gang on the rough side of Heliocon. It had been a fairly good life, save for the turf clashes with other gangs. When those happened, he usually got sent in as 'negotiator', mediating the dispute one way or another; the 'another' usually involving a carefully selected kill of some sort amongst the other party. When the Decepticons rose up, many of the gangs banded together into a militia to keep them out of 'their' city.

On the first day of the attack, most of them were slaughtered.

He had joined the Autobots in retaliation, knowing that the only way he could get back at the Decepticons was to get his hands on the training and resources that the Autobots could provide. Upon finishing boot camp, he was quickly transferred to Black Ops and assigned jobs that were well suited to his tastes and background, like infiltrating Chief's gang for example.

But then he got caught in the back blast of a sabotage gone wrong. Agony like he'd never known before raked its fingers along every sense that he had as his armour melted, until he couldn't take anymore and sunk into the depths of what he had been sure was death.

When he woke up two lunars later, the repair technicians had told him that he'd hovered on the brink of permanent stasis for well over half that time, and until a few breems before he came online nobody knew if he was even going to wake up.

As far as he had been concerned, Hardline had never woken up. He'd taken a good long look at what he was and didn't like what he'd seen. So he took his nickname as his real name, and set about living the way he should have from the start.

But life never seemed to want to work out the way he wanted too, and time after time Jazz had been forced to face the reality of what Hardline had done and who he had been. Just like now.

Prowl and Optimus were the only ones at the Ark who knewanything about his past, and Jazz hoped to keep it that way.

"Y' ain't got a chance Deck." Jazz called out. "We both know that. Just give it up an' I'll make sure the docs take good care of ya."  
"Oh I somehow doubt that." The still unseen Deck sneered. "Your idea of 'good care' and mine are very different."  
"_Just keep on talkin'." _Jazz thought, edging along the scree slope towards the source of the voice. _"A little more an' we can finish this 'fore more people get hurt."_

"By the way Hardline, I like the new colours."

"_Oh slaggit!"_


	5. Chapter 5

Bishop takes Pawn

Jazz coiled and took a flying leap seconds before a hand grenade tumbled down the slope and ignited, showering the area with small stones. He crashed into the scrub at the bottom of the ravine, rolled to his feet and dove into cover. Jazz warily poked his head around the edge of a boulder and scanned the area. Nothing.

0o0o0

The Common Room was almost silent, every optic locked on the small screens of the comm/scan units that Red Alert and Hoist had set up hours earlier.

"Anyone see anything?" Bluestreak half-whispered, the gunner peering over Hound's shoulder.  
"Nothing since that explosion." Prowl replied, one corner of his mind absently wondering if Bluestreak even realised that he was currently clutching his rifle to his chest. Probably not. Twostroke mewed forlornly from her perch on the gunner's shoulder. She knew something was wrong.

"I'm picking up movement in sector three!" Red Alert announced. "It's Jazz, and it appears that he is unharmed."

There was an audible sigh of relief from the gathered Autobots and their allies. Then the nervous waiting began again.

0o0o0

A gentle wind blew across the ground, whipping up dust and sending tumbleweeds skittering across the cooling rocks. Jazz leaned into it, feeling the tiny particles of dirt pepper his shins. He inhaled deeply, sensors analysing the trace compounds present in the atmosphere. Though his sense of 'smell' was no where near as sensitive as Hound's or Shadow's, it was sufficient enough to tell Jazz that Deck had been through the area recently.

The breeze picked up, rattling the dry branches of the sage bushes and carrying with it the mournful cry of a coyote. Jazz's head snapped up as the canine's howl broke off into a series of terrified yelps that faded into the distance. _"Gotcha."_

Jazz took off in the direction of the coyote, running in a half crouch as he flitted between the pools of darkness in the lee of standing stones and trees.

Their chase had taken them far from the ravines and into the wider desert area. Deck had momentarily lost him after the grenade went off, the weapon being of a special design that not only caused an explosion but also created a fine cloud of sensor-reflective particles. But Jazz had more tracking abilities in his arsenal than just his inbuilt sensor suite.

Pebbles crushed into the ground provided a trail that was clear enough for him to see even without his night vision. Uprooted vegetation gave direction and an indication of time of passage. And disturbed fauna, like the coyote, pinpointed Deck almost exactly.

There.

The unmistakable head and shoulders of the target were plainly silhouetted against the stars as Deck crested the top of a ridge. Jazz dropped to one knee and brought his sniper rifle out, centring the cross hairs on the mech's head. He flicked off the safety and started applying pressure to the trigger.

Wait.

This was too easy.

Jazz threw himself flat and squirmed into the scrubby bushes. There was no way that Deck, insane or not, would make such a basic mistake as going above the top of high point. He had to be planning something.

The silhouette suddenly turned towards Jazz and started jogging down the ridge.

"_How does he…oh heck!"_ Jazz cursed silently as he realised his mistake. He'd covered his paint and visor, but he'd forgotten about the windshield on his back. A glint of reflected starlight had just betrayed his position.

The Porsche flipped onto his back and on top of a rock, the weight of his upper body neatly smashing the tempered glass. The sound was like an explosion in the night and it stung like anything, but Jazz didn't have any other options. He crouched and shook out the last splinters of glass. Deck was coming and Jazz really didn't want to start a fight on his terms. He picked a direction and ran for it, right into a tripwire.


	6. Chapter 6

Bishop takes Knight

Waiting. Oh how he detested waiting, that infernal limbo between events. Much of his function depended on waiting for information to arrive or events to occur before he could move on to the next thing. If he knew what was going to happen then it didn't bother him as much. But this time he didn't. And what made it worse was that it was a friend that he was waiting for.

Prowl swept his optics over the row of screens. Nothing. Not a blip. He turned and pushed his way out through the silent crowd, sinking onto a couch at the back of the Common Room with his head in his hands, doorwings hanging. He couldn't take this unnatural situation anymore. Whenever there was a combat situation he was either kept appraised of it, he was in the middle of it, or both. But this was something completely out of his control. And to put it quite simply he really, really didn't like it. His job was to make sure that Autobots who got sent out would come home in one piece, and the uncertainty of this situation, coupled with his inability to act, was more than enough to get Prowl anxious.

After a moment or two of this morbid reflection he became aware that he wasn't alone in his little corner of the room. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had joined him, one twin on either side.

"Hey Prowl," Sideswipe whispered "Me and Sunny've been talking. You, me and him should be enough to help Jazz cap this slagger. All we need is your command codes to unlock the door."  
"I'm sorry Sideswipe, but as much as I would like to help take Deck down we can't risk it." Prowl shook his head. "I have no clue what Jazz is doing. If we barge in there we may be endangering his life. Jazz has asked for us to trust him, to have faith in his abilities to handle this. I believe that this is something that he feels that he must deal with on his own."  
"What do you mean?" Sunstreaker queried.  
"I've said too much. It's not my place to say." Prowl replied.

None of the trio realised that across the room, Prime was having the self same thoughts.

"_I've put one of my own in danger."_ Optimus growled at himself, furious that he had allowed himself to let Jazz walk out of the base without any backup. _"It should be me out there, not him." _Blue hands clenched into tight fists. _"I should unlock that door and start doing my duty as a commander and take care of my own. But I can't. Jazz asked me to trust him. I have to, otherwise what use am I as a leader if I don't trust my own officers?"_

0o0o0

The once near silent night erupted into fireballs and explosions.

Jazz dodged, leapt and rolled as fast as he could through Deck's elaborate web of tripwires and grenades. _"Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID!" _He berated himself, flinching aside as a burst of white hot shrapnel sprayed out of the ground beside him and only barely stifling a cry of pain as three of the razor sharp fragments embedded themselves in his right leg. He slid down a short slope and cast around for anything that would help.

There!

The ragged black slash of a cave loomed just ahead. Perfect. Jazz ran inside and then carefully backed out; making sure his feet went back in the footprints he'd left when he'd entered the cave. Then he jumped up and grabbed a rocky overhang over the cave, hauling himself up and over onto the top.

Jazz lay down and froze, his paint helping him to blend in with the surroundings as he powered down several of his systems to reduce his energy profile. A slow, measured thudding heralded Deck's approach, the mech walking with an easy stride and an obscenely large rifle casually resting on his shoulder. He saw the cave and the footprints and grinned.

"So, you want to play a little game of turbo cat and retro rat, eh?" Deck asked loudly. "Well, as I can obviously not fit inside that little, tiny crack, then I'll just have to make you come to me." He sat down and started tinkering with his rifle, optics sweeping across the terrain with a practiced ease. "I guess I make a pretty good target here, don't I Jazz?" he commented.

"_Aw no, he didn't fall for it!"_ Jazz grit his dental plates in irritation. _"Guess I'll just have t' pull somethin' new outta th' bag."_

The Porsche flicked through his options. Unfortunately they weren't many. If he moved Deck would spot him instantly. He couldn't transform with the shrapnel in his leg, and he sure as heck wasn't going to try and pull it out. There was one option however, and its appeal grew with every passing minute.

Despite the explosions he'd somehow managed to maintain his grip on his rifle, the one loaded with the clip of Black Fang bullets. Deck didn't have many weak spots, but that didn't really matter with these. And luckily he'd had the foresight to lie down in approximately a prone shooting position. One little pull and this would all be over.


	7. Chapter 7

Knight to E3 

The minutes crawled by. The last plumes of smoke from the grenades blew away on the night breezes. Another coyote barked, this time faint and far away. Moving ever so slowly to avoid detection, Jazz brought his rifle across and centred the crosshairs on Deck's face.

No.

This was Hardline's way of doing things, and Jazz had vowed to never walk that path again. Deck had been a brother in arms once, and he still had a chance to recover. This war wasn't going to claim any more of Jazz's soul than it already had.

With an effort, Jazz mentally reached back into his mind and shoved Hardline aside. He was Jazz, an Autobot officer, not some hardened killer from the backstreets. Shooting from concealment was not how Jazz did things. He did 'em with style.

Jazz let a foxlike grin flicker across his face. If there was one thing that he knew about Deck, it was that he almost always lost it when he got angry. That was how he'd beaten the mech last time. A bit of judicious taunting should rile him up enough to drop his guard, and that was when Jazz could move in for the checkmate.

A sudden thought occurred to the formerly black and white, causing him to pause.

"_Hang on a nano, something's not right here."_ Jazz frowned. _"Deck's good, but not even Caps could set up that many 'nades and wires in th' few minutes that he lost me. The last dude who got CFS wasn't nearly this coherent…oh no."_

He activated his radio and remote-linked to Teletran over a secure frequency, requesting a passive medical scan to be taken of Deck. The results came back moments later, unfortunately confirming Jazz's theory.

"_Slaggit! I've been so focussed on stoppin' him that I f'got t' look at what was right in front of m' face!"_ Whatever compassion Jazz had had for Deck evaporated, replaced by an ever increasing rage. He wasn't going to pull his punches any longer.

"Y' can cut the CFS act Deck." Jazz called out. "I know you're as sane as I am."  
Deck smiled, a cold and mirthless expression. "I was wondering when you'd figure it out." He replied nonchalantly.  
"Why'd ya do it?"

"Simple. I want to be on the winning side. And quite frankly, the Autobots are not that side." Deck said. He stood up, smile still in place as he looked around. "I struck a deal with Megatron. I kill you, and I get into the Decepticons. He arranged for a little 'technical assistance' here and back home, but the rest was all my plan."  
"You know the Code, Deck. Betrayal ain't something that's taken too lightly."  
Deck's smile widened, just as Jazz realised his mistake. "I know. Goodbye Jazz."

Jazz rolled to his feet and fled as Deck opened fire on the overhang. He'd let himself talk too long, and Deck had homed in on the sound of his voice. Jazz ducked into the wide mouth of a lava tube, Deck a few minutes behind. _"C'mon, follow me."_ Jazz mentally coaxed. This particular lava tube branched off into a web of caves and galleries that he often used for training. There wasn't a rock or crack that he didn't know the location of by heart. _"That's it, I'm in here. Now, let's see how you like playing the game on _my _terms."_


	8. Chapter 8

Knight takes Bishop

Jazz hunched down behind a rockfall as Deck entered the cave, the larger mech's footsteps booming like an intermittent roll of thunder.

"_So far, so good." _Jazz grinned to himself, listening as Deck's foot went through a thin crust of lava and the mech exercised the colourful end of his vocabulary. This whole area was pitted with bubbles made by trapped gasses. Most of them have already been 'discovered' during previous training missions, but there always were a few more waiting to be found during a moment's inattention.

"Jazz! You know I'll find you eventually." Deck yelled. "Come out and I'll make it quick."  
"Oh I somehow doubt that." Jazz replied, deliberately throwing Deck's words back at him. "Your idea of 'quick' and mine are very different." There was an untranslatable growl from the artillery gunner.

The Special Ops smirked and slipped two smoke grenades out of subspace. Just a little more prodding and Deck would be angry enough to lose his focus. Jazz pulled the pins and threw the grenades so that they would ricochet off the walls, adding noise to the disorientating smoke; then combat-crawled to a lava column that he knew was nearby, using it for cover. "Y'know Deck, I never would've thought you'd be th' one t' sink so low." He commented. "We were friends, brothers in arms. Why'd ya want out?"

Deck snorted, batting angrily at the obscuring smoke. "I don't hang around the weak. You're weak Jazz, Hardline wasn't. All it was was a matter of time."  
"So I'm guessin' that y' faked th' whole 'unstable' thing?" Jazz guessed.  
"Everything bar the insults."  
"I always found it funny that y' waited 'till Shadow was gone 'fore you came an' insulted me and the twins last time. They woulda ripped ya a new one if I hadn't gotten in there first." Jazz observed. The veiled insult was clear to Deck- _You're the one who's weak because you were scared of a little femme and I had to protect you from two of my own._

"I'll show you!" Deck snarled. He started towards where he thought Jazz was, only to stop and pause as he picked up feet shuffling away to his right. A rock skittered to his left. Deck grit his dental plates in anger. Curse this blasted smoke!

Jazz smiled grimly. With his very sharp hearing he could pinpoint Deck's location exactly while the other mech floundered helplessly in the dark looking for him. The echoes were incredibly distracting to those unaccustomed to it, and Jazz was anything but. He picked up another couple of small stones and lightly chucked them in Deck's general direction. There was a scrape of metal on rock as Deck whirled around once or twice, then a snarl of irritation.

"Where are you?" Deck roared. Normally he would have opened fire and blasted everything in range, but there was no telling how strong the ceiling was and the last thing he wanted was to be buried under several tonnes of mountain.

"Over here!" Jazz shouted. Deck turned just in time to see the mech rush at him from out of the smoke and land a solid punch across his chest before vanishing again. There was a patter of feet then Jazz appeared again, this time slamming the heel of his hand into Deck's chin and snapping his head back. Deck roared and lashed out blindly, but Jazz was gone. Again and again the cycle was repeated as Jazz taunted Deck with all the skill of a matador taunting a bull.

The smoke had thinned somewhat by now and through the haze Deck glimpsed the entrance to the tunnel that had led him here. He took a risk and ran for it, knowing that Jazz had to be close behind.

0o0o0

Prowl was still sitting at the back of the Common room, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped before his face, his expression intent. Half an hour ago, he and the other officers had 'heard' Jazz using his radio to contact Teletran over a frequency that was restricted to command-level access only. The channel had been scrambled so nobody knew what Jazz had requested, but now the question was why.

"Prowl?"  
The 2IC looked up to see Swoop standing beside him. "Yes Swoop?" He asked.  
"What you thinking?" The Dinobot asked as he sat down. "Him Optimus thinking, him Wheeljack thinking, everyone thinking. Even him Slingshot thinking. What everyone thinking about?"  
"I'm not sure." Prowl said honestly. "There are many things to consider here."  
"You thinking about him Jazz, yes? How to help?"  
"I am."

Swoop shifted slightly. "Him Optimus wanting to go help him Jazz. Wanting to go outside, fight bad guy. Us Dinobots want to too. Everyone want to help him Jazz. Why we not help him Jazz?"  
"We can't yet. Jazz asked us to wait until dawn." Prowl answered.  
The Dinobot frowned. "Why?"  
"Jazz wants to try stop Deck on his own. He knows how Deck fights and he doesn't want anyone to get hurt unnecessarily."

The Dinobot took a moment to digest that. "Him Jazz good friend."  
Prowl nodded. "He is indeed."


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry about this and futuredelays, but real life is getting in the way again_

Check 

Deck blundered his way out of the cave and into the pre-dawn gloom. This was not how it was supposed to happen! He'd planned out everything so perfectly, from the insanity act back on Cybertron to taunting and daring his opponent into taking that final step that would show him that 'Jazz' was just a façade donned to make himself feel good. A skin-tight forcefield designed specifically to repel high velocity attacks would have protected him from the projectile fire, and then, when 'Jazz' was finally dead and Hardline had been reclaimed, there would have been two new recruits for Megatron's army.

But then Jazz had wised up and thrown all his careful machinations into disarray.

Perhaps, however, there was still a way to succeed. Whether he liked it or not, Jazz had temporarily allowed Hardline to resurface. With enough prodding, perhaps he would take over again.

0o0o0

Jazz cautiously emerged from the cave, a small knife concealed in his right hand while he held a small pistol in his left.

Deck was out here somewhere. He was desperate, and thus even more dangerous than before. He had to be taken down, and quickly. Jazz slunk along the edge of an old lava flow, senses at the highest possible sensitivity. He paused for a moment beside a dead tree, listening. His instincts flared a warning and the Special Ops pivoted on one foot and snapped his right arm down to fling the dagger.

The knife made a fluttering sound as it vanished into the darkness, followed by a solid sounding thunk and a cry of pain. _"Gotcha."_ Jazz grinned, flicking back the pistol's safety and laying down a spread of laser fire in the general area the knife went into. There was a grunt and Deck stumbled out of hiding.

"Last chance Deck. Turn y'self in." Jazz ordered, slowly advancing towards the mech with his pistol sights lined up on Deck's head. Deck glanced around, backing up a slight slope behind him. Jazz cautiously followed him until both mechs were on a small flat area at the top.  
"Somehow I doubt you'll pull that trigger." Deck sneered. "I'm unarmed, and Jazz isn't a killer, but Hardline is. He had what it took to go far in this gig, but you don't. You never did, and that's why you wanted out, isn't it?"  
"I got out 'cause I didn't wanna lose myself t' the war." Jazz corrected.  
"How noble." Deck snorted.  
"I'm guessin' that if I told ya t' put y' hands behind y' head and lie on th' ground, y' wouldn't?" Jazz asked.  
"Not a chance."  
"Okay then."

In a blur of motion, Jazz darted forward, seized Deck's arm with his free hand and hooked his leg behind Deck's. One pull was all it took to send the larger mech sprawling, the Porsche planting one large foot on Deck's chest and carefully lining up his gun sights on his head. "Now do y' wanna surrender? Or do I have t' knock y' inta stasis first?"

Deck narrowed his optics. Time for one last ploy. "What do you think all your little friends will say once they find out the truth?" He taunted. "What will they say once they know what you really are- a murder, just like me? Do you seriously think that they'll trust you?" The mech snorted. "I doubt it."  
Jazz clenched his jaw. Already his imagination was running wild with the possible scenarios, just as Deck had planned. "You don't know them. I do." He shot back defensively.  
"Ah, but I do know them." Deck grinned. "I know that for all that value you put on trust and knowing your team, you left out a rather large section of your personal history. And I know that when they find out, they'll never trust you again." He lifted his chin. "Do it Jazz." Deck ordered. "Pull the trigger. You're a cold-sparked killer, we both know that. Now prove it."

Jazz's face was unreadable. A long moment passed, then he subspaced his gun "No." He replied. "I'm not that mech anymore."

He turned and started limping down the hillside, back to the Ark. Behind him, Deck was seething. Despite everything, Jazz had simply refused to crack. There was only one option now. Deck scrambled to his feet and coiled. "Then DIE!" He roared, lunging with his arms spread wide and slamming into the smaller 'bot's back.

0o0o0

Optimus had had enough. He stalked to the row of screens and swept his optics across them. A faint glow was staining the sky to the east, the precursor to the actual dawn, but there was no sign of his officer. "Any sign of Jazz?" The Prime asked of Red Alert. The Security Director shook his head.  
"The scanners have picked up no trace of him since the transmission he made two hours ago."

Prime turned to where Ironhide was leaning against a wall, arms crossed and glowering at life in general. "Ironhide, would you classify that as sunrise?" He asked.  
Ironhide flicked his gaze over the screens. "Looks like one t' me." He replied, immediately catching onto Optimus' subtle hint.  
The Autobots within earshot started to perk up, weapons appearing out of subspace as they caught onto what their leader was doing. Prime walked over to the door and entered his command code to unlock it. "Prowl, best deployment options?" He asked.  
"Air units out first, scouting in a standard grid pattern, followed by ground units in squads of four, minimum two warriors per squad. Medical units hanging back at the base and prepared for rapid deployment." Prowl quickly answered.  
"Then let's roll!" Prime ordered.


	10. Chapter 10

Checkmate

Jazz and Deck tumbled down the slope, the Porsche fighting for survival as the artillery mech did his best to tear him into itty bitty scraps of metal. They hit the valley floor hard, the force of the impact separating the two combatants for a moment before they dove back at each other.

0o0o0

Perched high above on a limb of a long dead tree, Laserbeak watched the fight with great interest, the camera in his head relaying the scene to the Decepticon undersea base, where Megatron and his cohorts also observed the unfolding events.

Starscream canted a sneer at his commander. "So, it looks like this plan is also on the verge of failure." He observed. "Should we attempt to intervene, or let that Autobot fool meet his fate?"  
"If Deck wishes to join the Decepticons he must first earn the right by killing Jazz. But this is an opportunity that we cannot afford to miss." Megatron replied. "That sentimental fool Optimus will come to his officer's rescue soon enough. The Autobots will be low on energy from staying online throughout the night, making easy pickings for us." He turned to Soundwave. "Assemble all Decepticons. We attack as soon as Laserbeak reports the Autobot's arrival."

0o0o0

Jazz brought his right hand down in an overhead hammer strike, but Deck seized his wrist and squeezed, making Jazz howl in pain and drop to one knee as his wrist was crushed. Deck sneered and released Jazz's arm just long enough to kick him in the face and send him sprawling on the rock. Deck then crouched, wrapped his hands around Jazz's neck and applied pressure, the thin metal buckling under the inexorable pressure. Despite the pain, Jazz retaliated quickly, slipping the thumb of his functional hand under Deck's thumb and twisting sharply, popping the delicate servos inside the digit. Deck screamed and released Jazz, gently cradling his damaged hand. Jazz carefully rolled to his feet and took a few steps back.

"C'mon Deck, listen t' me." Jazz pleaded. "All this is only gonna get you killed. Turn y'self in, please."  
"Never!" Deck snarled, swiping at Jazz with his good hand in a powerful right hook. Jazz ducked and whirled under the blow to land a sharp reverse elbow strike in Deck's gut, twisting around to deliver a two finger strike into Deck's right optic, shattering it. Deck staggered back then charged again, knocking Jazz to the ground and began hammering his frame with plating-cracking blows.

Over the agony, Jazz suddenly heard the distinct _thwop-thwop-thwop_ of helicopter blades.

"Need a hand?" Somone yelled, just before the sound of a transformation and a green blur suddenly swept Deck away.

"_What the... Blades isn't green."_ Jazz struggled into a partial sitting position to see none other than Springer pummelling Deck into the rock with some measure of enthusiasm. That's when it dawned on him. Ultra Magnus hadn't just sent any team, he'd sent the Wreakers.

When Deck had finally slipped into the realm of blissful unconsciousness, Springer released his victim and came over to help Jazz up. "We intercepted a transmission from Shockwave on the way over and found out about artillery boy's little plot." He said as he slung Jazz's good arm around his shoulders and pulled the Porsche to his feet. "Don't worry; he'll get a fair trial."  
"Yeah well, somehow I doubt th' outcome 'ill be anythin' other than guilty." Jazz wheezed.  
"True."

The sun had fully risen by now as they started down the valley, back towards the Ark some three kilometres away. Jazz's sensitive audios picked up something that he'd have rather not heard just then. Sensors confirmed his theory moments later as Thundercracker overshot their position, trailed moments later by Fireflight. "Looks like ol' Meggy decided t' take advantage of things." Jazz winced as one of his systems protested being used. "'ttacking while everyone's out lookin' fer me."  
"Yeah." Springer paused and touched one hand to the side of his helmet. "Springer to Wreakers. I've got Jazz, Twintwist, go and pick up Deck, everyone else get to the Ark and lend a hand."


	11. Chapter 11

Endgame 

The Decepticons swarmed the Autobot base like a tidal wave, laser fire and missiles showering down on the entrenched defenders. The Wreckers, sans Springer and Twintwist, were welcome additions to the fight, but as formidable as they were, these odds were pushing it.

Menasor and Devastator thundered up the valley, and with two Aerialbots and a Protectobot down there was no chance of the two Autobot gestalts coming into play. While the giants advanced, the Seekers harassed the few fliers and rained down ordinance while the rest of the forces sought cover in the rocks and trees and attacked from long range.

Optimus ducked a blast from his opposite number, hands instinctively wrapped around his helm as rock fragments pinged off his hide. He glanced over the top of his cover, squeezed off a shot at Dirge, and took a calculated risk.

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, bring out Wheeljack's new missiles!" Prime ordered.  
The twins' faces lit up. "Really?" Sideswipe asked eagerly.  
"Yes, I want Devastator out of commission before he can do any harm!"  
"Got it."

Sideswipe knelt and produced from subspace a breech-loading missile launcher almost as tall as he was, with a bore about as wide as his face. He shouldered the weapon and carefully took aim at the green behemoth. "Load!" He ordered. Sunstreaker snapped open a case of large missiles and carefully fitted one into the breech, closed the lock, then knelt to brace his twin against the recoil. "Fire in the hole!" Sideswipe grinned and depressed the trigger.

_Ka-thoooom! _

The missile lanced out and yawned off target, blowing a rather large crater out of the mountain to the left of Devastator. The billowing cloud of smoke from the ignition was whipped away by the wind to reveal two rather scorched twins sprawled on the rock, knocked back by the unexpected potency of the recoil.

"Woah, now that's what I call a kick!" Sideswipe gave the launcher an appreciative look as he picked himself up then pulled his brother up.  
Sunstreaker took one glance at himself and wailed "Look what it's done to my paint!"  
Sideswipe shrugged. "You were all scratched up anyway, at least now you can get a full re-paint instead of just a touch up."  
That mollified the yellow warrior somewhat. "True." He nodded.

The twins took aim again, this time Sideswipe keeping his back to a boulder and his brother bracing him from the side. "Fire in the hole!" He repeated.

_Ka-thooooom! _

Devastator howled and stumbled back, a large chunk blown out of his shoulder. That was when he spotted the two warriors and changed tack. "Reload!" Sideswipe called, looking back at his twin as the behemoth advanced.  
"We're outta missiles!" Sunstreaker yelled, dropping the empty case.  
"Oh slaggit!"

Faces grim the twins prepared to attack, only to be suddenly thrown back by a blast of hot air. A dark blue streak shot overhead and Devastator cried out in pain before shattering into the individual Constructicons. The new jet banked and circled the area, checking for movement, then changed course and circled the two Autobots.

"Looked like you needed a hand there." A familiar voice called down.  
Sideswipe grinned. "Nightwatch! Good to see ya!"  
"Good to be here! Where's Prime? I've got some mutual friends on the way."  
"Out east of us, at that rock spire." Sunstreaker pointed.  
"Much obliged." Nightwatch waggled his wings and peeled off.

0o0o0

Springer cast an optic back the way they had come, worriedly noting the black clots of fluids dribbling down Jazz's legs and smearing dark streaks on the pale rock. "You feeling ok?" He asked. The sounds of battle almost drowned out the wounded mech's reply.  
"Not really feelin' too swell." Jazz admitted. He wheezed and coughed up a mouthful of hydraulic fluid, discreetly spitting it out to the side. "That can't be good."  
"I'd have to agree." Springer gently eased Jazz to the ground, kneeling beside him to check on the multitude of wounds.

_Ch-chink Ch-chink _

"Freeze, Auto-scum. Both of ya." Rumble sneered, his brother cassette keeping Springer covered while he lined up his gunsights on Jazz. "Megatron's gonna be happy 'bout this." He grinned.

"I beg to differ."

Rumble turned and found himself nose to muzzle with a rather large and rather angry cyberwolf. Shadow snarled, long fangs centimetres away from the little mechanoid's face plate. "I suggest you run." She growled. "It was a long flight and I'm feeling rather peckish." Both mechs gulped and fled, stumbling and pushing at each other in their haste to escape.

Shadow laughed and transformed, kneeling beside Jazz and running gentle fingers over the torn edges in his armour plate. "Though I'd toldja t' stay home." Jazz weakly admonished, tapping the plate of metal on the femme's face.

"I can run, transform and shoot, so that's good enough for me." Shadow replied, frowning as she examined the tacky residue crusting the largest wounds. "You know how I get." She twisted and held out one hand, dumping a stretcher out of subspace, before turning her attention to Springer. "Gimme a hand, we've got to get him to a repair bay."

0o0o0

"Heh, look at the groundlings run." Skywarp sneered as he lined up for a fresh attack run.  
Static hummed, then a voice crackled over his radio._ "Hey you!"  
_"What the…Who is this?"  
A giggle filtered through. _"Bye bye." _

The Seeker finally traced the source of the transmission, transforming and looking down to see an orange femme waving at him. A femme whom just happened to be standing next to a light tank. Skywarp activated his teleport systems, but Scope anticipated the move and adjusted his aim accordingly, firing just before the seeker had time to re-materialise and catching him square in the chest.

0o0o0

The arrival of the 116's and their allies proved to be the factor that turned the tide, the newcomers relieving their Ark-based comrades on the front lines and giving them the time to gather their strength for the final push to drive the attackers back.

"You may have won this battle, but the war is far from over, Prime!" Megatron roared as he took off and led his battered troops back to base.  
"Ah stuff it!" Caps hollered back, inciting a chuckle from the gathering troops.

Springer and Shadow appeared from behind a bluff, Jazz on the stretcher between them, while Twintwist hauled Deck towards the Ark by his bound wrists, the latter having regained consciousness partway through the trip.

"Is everyone intact?" Prime asked, quickly doing a head count as the last stragglers approached.  
"For the most part, looks so." Nightwatch replied. He flicked his gaze towards Deck. "We've gotta get back to Cybertron before Shockwave misses us. We'll take that one off your hands if you like." He offered.  
"You're welcome to." Optimus rumbled.  
"Somebody get a medic, Jazz needs help now!" Shadow yelled, setting down the stretcher.  
"I'll take care of that." Ferric said, pushing his way to the front of the crowd.

"Like slag you will!"

Ratchet stalked up to Ferric, his face a thundercloud as he stabbed one finger in the larger mech's face. "You keep your slaggin' hack hands off my patients." The CMO snarled. Ferric contemptuously batted his arm away. "Or you'll do what?" He sneered. Ratchet didn't waste any words, simply balling his fist and driving it deep into the red mech's abdomen. Ferric doubled over gasping and totally unable to defend himself as Ratchet brought his fist down on his helm in an overhead hammer blow. The mech staggered, swayed, and finally toppled.

There was a cheer from the Cybertron-based Autobots.

Victorious, Ratchet turned to the Ark-bots. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, if that slag-pile even _thinks_ about repairing anybody, shoot him."  
"With pleasure." Sideswipe grinned, the twins bounding down the hillside to take up flanking positions beside the downed mech.

"You'll never win, Jazz!" Deck roared as he was none too gently dragged away by the Wreckers. "Hardline still lives on, and I'll make sure you'll pay!"

Hound turned a curious look on the still prone Jazz. "Who's Hardline?" he queried.  
"Yeah." Cliffjumper chimed in. "What's he talking about?"

Jazz took one look at the gathering crowd of curious Autobots and decided to take the easy way out of answering their questions- he let himself pass out.

0o0o0

It was dark when Jazz finally cycled out of repair-stasis and into full awareness. He checked his chronometer, somewhat surprised that three full days had passed. Then he remembered the crowd of curious Autobots. "Oh no." He groaned, one hand rubbing his visor. "How th' heck am I gonna get out of this?"

"If you're wondering about Hardline, there's no problem. Our resident tactician is a surprisingly good liar."

Ratchet emerged from his office, a cup in each hand. He hooked a stool with his foot and pulled it over, sitting down and handing a mug of energon to Jazz when the officer had hoisted himself into a partial sitting position, propped on one arm. Jazz accepted the cup with a grateful nod and took a sip, feeling the oily liquid slosh around in his mouth before draining down his throat and into his fuel tank.

"Prrowww?" Twostroke slipped out of a vent and wound her body around the legs of Ratchet's stool, looking up at him with a question on her furry face. With a sigh, the CMO bent, scooped up the cat, and deposited her on the repair berth. Twostroke purred and butted her head against Jazz's arm several times in greeting. Jazz carefully set down his mug and stroked her head with the tip of his finger. "Miss me didja?" He asked. "Doncha worry, I got some real good 'bots watchin' m' back."

Twostroke mewed again and curled up in the crook of Jazz's elbow, still purring. Ratchet watched with an almost un-noticeable smile. "That fraggin' animal was mooching around here all the time you were out." The medic informed him. "And if I wasn't chasing her out, then I was beating back the crowd of worriers." He jerked a thumb at the repair bay's double doors. Jazz craned his neck and caught sight of perhaps one or two shadows lurking on the other side of the glass insets.

"Thanks Ratch'. I owe you an' Prowl big, real big." Jazz said, a frame-deep weariness making his voice lose its usual lilt.  
The CMO shook his head. "You don't owe us slag." He corrected. "Finish off your energon and get some shut down, you need it."  
"Yes Ratchet." Jazz obediently replied, too exhausted to inquire further into Prowl's cover-up as he downed the remaining energon and carefully lowered himself back down onto the berth.


	12. Chapter 12

Clearing the board

A resounding male tenor echoed from the speakers, contrasting perfectly with the velvety female soprano singing a mournful counterpoint. The room was pitch black, save for the odd status light from the various pieces of equipment and the optic glow of its sole occupant.

The Jazz everyone knew was a happy, energetic mech, always ready with a bright grin and a cheery 'Howzit?' He never got depressed, never had a guilty conscience or a serious regret. He knew his job and pulled it off with style, never faltering or doubting.

And as he slouched in the darkness of his room, a flask of high grade on the floor beside him, Jazz sorely wished that Autobot actually existed. He carried more hurts than most people realized, all of them neatly tucked away behind his cheerful visage, until something happened and he had to relieve the pressure before it threatened the shreds of his sanity.

The Porsche groaned and let his head fall back and hit the wall, powering down his optics and letting the music fill his mind. He was so zoned out that he never noticed he had a visitor until said visitor crouched and gave him a gentle poke in the side. "Hey, you online?"  
Jazz powered up his optics just enough to confirm who it was. "Lemme alone." He grunted, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his arms around his knees.

Ratchet harrumphed and settled into a more comfortable position. "Jazz, you've been in here for two days straight and missed a check up. What's wrong?" He asked patiently.  
"Nuthin'." The black and white snapped.  
"Jazz." Ratchet's voice had a note of warning to it.  
"Fine." Jazz knew it was impossible to lie to the mech, so he figured it'd be healthier to simply tell the truth. "I just about got slagged by someone who used t' be one o' my best buds an' I seriously got my head messed with t' boot. Now I'm wallowin' in misery. Happy?" He asked sarcastically. He reached for the flask and took a gulp from it.  
Ratchet frowned and took the flask off him. "That's not gonna make it go away. Trust me, I know."  
"Yeah, so?"

The medic's frown deepened. This was not normal behavior for Jazz at all. "Jazz, what's really the matter?"  
Jazz remained silent for a long time, then finally let out a long sigh. "You got any regrets?" He asked.  
"Piled to the stars and back." Ratchet answered. _'And most of them have a grave marker.'  
_"Sounds 'bout the same as me." Jazz let out a bitter laugh, fingering a small silver object attached to a fine chain. Ratchet watched him for a moment, then turned his attention to the object. With a start he recognised it as being an item of jewelry that had been quite popular with femmes near the end of the Golden Age. The end of the chain was clipped to the upper arm and wound around the arm and hand in such a way that the charm at the other end rested on the back of the hand.

"What was her name?" Ratchet asked gently, indicating the jewelry.  
"Relay, a medic. Sweet lil' lady, never had a harsh word for anybody. She lived in th' dorm next t' mine at th' Academy while I was teachin'. Loved her like a sister. We all did." Jazz replied quietly.  
"We?"  
"Me an' a few buddies. Gave her this," Jazz held up the circular charm, "just b'fore I got transferred t' active duty. We all had one, this is mine." He fished another charm out of subspace and gave it to the medic. This one was larger and had a magnetic backing, designed to be worn like a lapel pin. Ratchet studied the intricate threads of silver wire knotted into a strange design, running his thumb over the bumps and ridges. "What happened?"  
"Chief got her." Jazz growled. "Remember that whole ruckus with Prowl?"  
"It's not easy to forget." Ratchet answered.  
"Cheif gave it t' me when he dropped in t' visit me in th' cells. He wanted me angry, t' try an' attack him just so that when he finished me off I'd know just how much more powerful he was."

The medic's optics narrowed and he handed back the charm. "He's lucky the twins didn't know that."  
"Heh, yeah." Jazz let out a weary sigh and rubbed at his visor, the corners of his mouth twitching in a wince.  
"Optics still hurt?" Ratchet asked.  
"Only when I'm tired."  
"Are you gonna let me fix them this time?"  
"Nope."

Ratchet shook his head slightly. "Jazz, how long are you going to keep punishing yourself?" He asked. "Ferric had no right to do that to you."  
"Yeah he did."  
"No, he didn't. As a medic he's sworn to do no harm to those put in his care. He violated that oath when he did that to you." Ratchet replied. "Now, will you let me fix your optics?"  
Jazz shook his head. "Sorry Ratch, not yet. It's a restitution thing. I did bad stuff b'fore, now I gotta pay th' debt."  
"What about the business with Deck?"  
"Had t' prove him wrong."  
"Wrong about what?"

But that was all that Ratchet would get out of the Special Operations Officer this night. Jazz remained mute, lips pressed tightly together.

Ratchet got up with a grunt, feeling his joints crack and pop from sitting for too long. "Take a hint from an old campaigner." He advised. "No matter what you do, you can't save people if they don't want to be saved. Now, you have a check up tomorrow, 0900 hours." The CMO gruffly informed Jazz. "Be there or I'll drag you in by your heels. And I'm keeping this," he shook the flask, "until you come to your senses. Drinking alone is stupid and brooding isn't your style."

Jazz snapped off a mock salute. "Yes sir, noted sir." He replied, a hint of a smile twitching around his mouth.  
Ratchet gave him a look. "You and notes don't get along too well either."  
"Eh, can't be perfect." Jazz shrugged. "Thanks Ratch."  
"Just doing my duty, as a medic and your friend."  
"It's 'preciated, trust me on that."  
Ratchet's lips quirked in a smile. "I do."

Fin


End file.
